Cybertronian Heart drabbles
by Darkia77
Summary: just some little random stories I wrote.
1. Chapter 1

_**Cybertronian Heart Drabbles**_

_**I. **__A/N: When Wildstrike is talking, she says things like 'mo-w ging-ew ay-w'; what she's really saying is 'more ginger ale'. She's three so her communication skills aren't the best. And for those protesting a toddler drinking soda, I would like it to be known that Ginger Ale calms the stomach when taken in moderation. One of the best things to give to an ill person besides chicken noodle soup, speaking from personal experience. And this is just a little idea I had floating around in my head while I was working on my main fan-fic of this. If you like this drabble, I might write up more and I'll work faster on my fan-fic of Wildstrike and her adventures. For now, enjoy! :3_

Ironhide rubbed a servo tiredly over his plates as he held the shivering and whimpering human youngling in his other. For the past three orns, he had been taking care of the ill child while her adopted Creator and Carrier were away, across the country assissting their human allies. When Ratchet and Wheeljack had left nearly a week ago, Wildstrike had been fine, save for a few coughs here and there. The old Weapons expert hadn't thought much of it. Now he was beginning to regret it. Poor Wildstrike had a high fever, could barely move, would barely eat, and wouldn't stop shaking.

As soon as she had worsened from those little coughs, about a day after the medic and engineer had left, Ironhide had Ratchet to see what could be done. The old medic nearly had a panic attack before his professional side settled back in place. "Primus! Why didn't you fragging let me know sooner, you slagging dumb-aft? Just... keep her wrapped in her favorite blanket; the red fluffy one with her wrench pillow. Make sure she drinks plenty of fluids, in case she needs to purge, and see if you can get her to eat something light. And keep a cool, damp cloth on her forehead to try and break that fever but don't let her get chilled," the medic ordered firmly. "Wheeljack and I will be back as soon as possible." Right before the transmission was cut, Ironhide had heard a faint, "My poor little Sparklet..." The warrior would have laughed if he hadn't been so worried for the female child.

Now here he was, sitting on the oversized couch that sat in the Entertainment Room of the Ark, craddling Wildstrike while she dozed lightly. Ironhide was glad Prime had arranged some time off for him to care for the child since her Creators weren't available. He gently replaced her blanket as it fell off of her as she shifted around in his palm. The toddler curled instinctively closer to the warmth of the red mech's frame and he sighed, revving his engine once again. For some strange reason, the little female found the rumble and warmth given off by an engine comforting and Ironhide used that to his advantage.

Wildstrike sniffled weakly, looking up at the old mech through the screen of her auburn hair. "Unc'e 'Hide?"

"Yeah, 'Strike?" Ironhide glanced down at her, shifting his gaze from some Earth show on the television documenting the history of several human wars.

"Can I have some mo-w ging-ew ay-w?" Her request was punctuated by a hacking cough that racked her body.

Ironhide's optics softened and a pitying smile pulled at his mouth. "Yeah, hang on." He bent forward slightly, picked up her tiny 'sippy cup', as the humans called it, and checked the amount of the soda was in the container. It was near empty. He didn't dare get up considering how long it had taken him to get Wildstrike comfortable as well as himself. The Weapons Expert settled for Sideswipe. _Ya busy?_

_No, but I have patrol in a few breems. Why?_ came a hesitant reply.

_'Strike needs more 'a her drink an' Ah don't dare ta move. Git yer aft in here with her soda, mech._

A groan. _This is the third Ginger Ale she's needed today._

Ironhide looked at the pitiful little bundle in his grasp and growled over the line, _Sideswipe, if ya don't git 'Strike her soda now Ah'm gunna make ya clean the Trainin' Room floors with yer glossa. Hurry up er the poor femme's gunna cough up a lung._

_On my way,_ was the immediate response and the cut off of the communications line.

The warrior grunted in satisfaction. The red twin might be difficult but he really did care about the little human and vice versa. Despite the seemingly frosty way she had taken to the frontliner at first, she had grown to like him a lot, actively asking for him when it came for her bedtime story or to play. The two had bonded like a big brother and a little sister. Now, if it meant Wildstrike would be happy or feel better, Sideswipe would find a way to move the moon for her. And ever since she had gotten sick, the twin put up less and less of a fight when it came to fetching and delivering things, especially if it was for Wildstrike.

At that thought, the red frontliner barrled into the room, a cold bottle of Ginger Ale gripped between two digits. Ironhide handed the toddler's cup to Sideswipe, who quickly filled it and returned it. Wildstrike took it gratefully and sucked contently on the mouth piece, her coughing eased momentarily.

A call came to Ironhide's comm. and the mech scowled slightly. _Whadda ya need, Prowl?_

_Ironhide, Grimlock is causing some problems in the Rec Room and I need you to break it up, _the SiC stated curtly.

_But Ah'm takin' care 'a Wildstike._

A quiet sigh followed. _Is Sideswipe available to care for her for a while?_

Ironhide looked at the red frontliner, who stared worrily at the tiny toddler. _Nah. He's got patrol soon._

_What about Sunstreaker then?_

"Is yer brother busy?" Ironhide inquried.

"No, he's off duty for two orns 'cus he had a double shift." Sideswipe frowned. "You're not thinking of letting him care for 'Strike, are you?"

"Ain't got much of a choice. Got a problem in the Rec Room that needs dealin' with an' ya got patrol."

"But you know he's not too crazy over her and a sick Wildstrike is worse to him 'cus she's leaking all sorts of fluids." The red twin knew what a Prima Dona his brother was and that he wouldn't want to be near anything that would ruin his paintjob.

_He's perfect. Can ya find a way ta send his aft over here?_ Ironhide requested.

The weapons specialist could almost see the evil grin on Prowl's faceplates. _With pleasure. _No doubt the SiC would resort to good, old fashioned blackmail to persuade the vain brother to lend a helping servo.

Not five minutes later the golden twin entered, arms crossed over his chassis and a scowl on his faceplates. "Hand the little gremlin over," he demanded harshly, thrusting out a servo.

Ironhide managed to stand without disturbing Wildstrike too much and he carefully transfered the child to Sunstreaker's grasp. The gold frontliner pressed his lip-components together in a grimace as the little one sneezed once into her blanket and snuffled. He huffed sub-vocally and took Ironhide's place on the couch. The old warrior went through everything that Ratchet had told him to do with the younger warrior, adding in the detail about Wildstrike's like of rumbling engines.

Sunstreaker nodded, gumbling to himself, and waved off his brother and Ironhide. He picked up the remote for the television and changed it to a painting show once they were out of sight. The golden twin's frown eased into a small smile as he glanced down at the helpless bundle he held. Wildstrike gave him a weak smile back, making a sound of contentment when he rubbed his thumb along her back and revved his engine lightly.

Despite what everyone thought, Sunstreaker did have a soft spot for the small human girl. She showed a bright interest in painting as well as other forms of art, which the frontliner had not expected. It was refreshing. The golden warrior often snuck several joors of quality time with her whenever he was free. He even found that he didn't mind her abundance of disgusting fluids as much as he did other humans'.

The vain mech swung his peds up onto the couch, rolling onto his back, Wildstrike resting on his chassis, directly over his engine, with a servo carefully rested on top of her. After several relaxing moments of silent lying and watching T.V., the mech glanced down when he felt a light tap on his chest. "Sunny?"

Wildstrike was also the only one Sunstreaker allowed to call him Sunny and not get knocked to the ground. "What, 'Strike?"

"Can you sing to me?"

The golden warrior looked at her in mild surprise. "Sing?"

She nodded. "Papa aw-ways sings to me when I'm sick. Pwease?" The pleading, wide-eyed look she gave him tugged at his Spark more than he would like to admit.

Sunstreaker sighed, "Alright. What do you want me to sing?"

"You awe my sunshine?" the toddler asked quietly.

The Lambo fought down a smile at the ridiculous picture of Wheeljack singing that song to the sick youngling human that popped to the front of his CPU. He supressed the image before starting in a soft, soothing voice, "You are my sunshine; my only sunshine."

Wildstrike sighed happily, laying her head on her pillow-sized stuffed wrench.

"You make me happy when skies are grey," he continued in his melodic voice. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you."

The little girl's breathing slowed down to that of near sleep, one hand resting on outside of her red blanket and on his chassis.

"Please don't take... my sunshine away," Sunstreaker finished quietly. The girl fell deeply asleep from the warmth of his frame, the steady vibrations from his chest, and his gentle voice. The gold twin found himself slowly nodding off before sliping into recharge with a content smile on his faceplates, one of his digits brushing soothingly along the tiny child's back.

That was how Wheeljack and Ratchet found them when they returned that night; both curled up on the couch and sleeping deeply. Who knew Sunstreaker could be so sweet? And, naturally, the bondmates were going to use this tidbit to blackmail Sunstreaker for a _long_ time.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm tellin' ya, it's imposs'ble, femme. Ya can't say it withou' laughin'," a cool voice drawled.

Wildstrike and Jazz sat on the over-sized green sofa of the common room. They had just finished watching Date Movie, the latest of the Scary Movie, Epic Movie, and Distaster Movie series. It was a regular thing between friends. The two of them would watch a movie every Tuesday, _no matter what_. And this movie was the ultimate in Human humor. It was so stupid, it was funny. But while they had been browsing the bonus features, they had come across something most intruiging.

"Then let's make it interesting," the auburm haired human said firmly. Wildstrike crossed her arms, reflecting her stubborn attitude. She reached into her subspace, provided by a small wrist contraption made by Wheeljack, her adopted Carrier, and pulled out a bag of Energon chips. Tossing it on the small (for Cybertronian size) coffee table in front of them, she offered, "500 E.C.'s says I can do it."

Jazz snatched up the sack and glanced through it, most likely counting the E.C.'s. Finally, the Porche tossed a bag the same size from his subspace next to hers. "Ya got yerself a bet. Rules?"

Wildstrike held up a datapad and scribbled them down. She tilted it towards the Autobot TiC for him to approve.

**1) Must say the line with a straight face.**

**2) Must wait five seconds after it is said before laughing.**

**3) Must not give any indication of what is going to be said.**

**4) Must be said to a 'humorless' mech.**

Jazz nodded. "A'ight. Le's do it." Picking up a small video camera and checking the battery life, the two each grabbed their sacks of E.C.s, Jazz picked Wildstrike up and set her on his shoulder, leaving for the rec room. As the door slid open, earth-brown eyes and a blue visor glance through the group present.

Wildstrike leaned towards the TiC. "So, who's the lucky mech?"

The sabateur had been hoping that Prowl would be present. The look on his faceplates would have been _priceless_. But, sadly, he wasn't there. Bumblebee wasn't a humorless mech, neither was Blaster, nor Blurr, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, or Wheeljack. Jazz's optics stopped abruptly as he spotted two lone mechs at a table. A devious smile formed on his mouth. "Them."

The teenaged human female followed his line of vision. "Cool." Hound and Mirage. Hound wasn't humorless, but Mirage didn't find much funny. The fact that the two were bondmates made it even better.

Taking a deep breath, 'Strike made her face completely blank. Jazz set his little friend down on the floor. Strolling calmly up to the two mechs, she climbed up the ladder attatched to all tables and such, and took a seat on the edge of the table, next to the blue and white mech, abruptly ending their conversation. Both Hound and 'Raj looked at her expectantly. The girl just sat there on the table surface, her face neutral, hands folded neatly in her lap. Jazz stood over by the door, his entire frame shaking as he tried to keep from laughing, the camera recording everything.

Wildstrike waited until the two mechs shrugged, turned away, and took a sip of their cubes of Energon before turning to face Mirage. Abruptly, she asked, "You fuckin'?"

'Raj spat his Energon in a spray, setting his cube down firmly. Hound choked on his Energon, breaking into a coughing fit. Everyone in the rec room stopped and turned towards her, giving her odd looks. 'Strike couldn't keep up the facade any more. She fell onto the floor, laughing her ass off. It might of hurt when she fell, but she couldn't stop laughing. Jazz had slumped against the doorway, snickers racking through his frame. He had somehow managed to keep the camera steady to record everything. He was going to put this on YouTube, without a doubt.

Struggling to get to her feet, she stumbled over to the TiC, giggling wildly. Jazz handed her the E.C.'s without question. When they finally pull themselves together, coolant and tears were leaking down their faces, ribs and systems still burning from how hard they were laughing. Jazz managed around a few remaining chuckles, "Tha' was th' funnies' thin' I've ever seen."

Wildstrike nodded, struggling to catch her breath. "That was halarious," she managed to wheeze. They both exited the room, jabbering about posting the video as soon as they could.

The scout and spy managed to get ahold of themselves, staring after Wildstrike and Jazz as they left. The green jeep glanced at his mate. "What the Pit was that about?"

The blue and white mech shook his helm, at a loss for words. He had known that those two were nutters but this... Was simply insane. 'Raj shook his helm again, taking another sip of his cube, only to spit it back out again as Hound said unexpectedly, "You should have told her 'yes.'"

A/N: Yesh, another Cybertronian Heart drabble :3

Now for my comments on THIS little piece. I have no fragging idea what I was thinking when I wrote this. I had watched the extras on Date Movie and the guy who plays Frank Jones (Julia's father) said that when you go to a club or something, ask the girl or dude you like "You fuckin'?". If they say yes or laugh, "you know you're in." If they say no or give you a disgusted look, walk away and call them a Prude Bitch... Naturally, TF came into mind. Well, in mine it did. Yeah. I have no clue what people have slipped into my drinks...


End file.
